


The Power of Three and Other Crazy AUs

by Mauisse_Flowers



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Original Character-centric, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mauisse_Flowers/pseuds/Mauisse_Flowers
Summary: A place where Plot Bunnies created by a group chat of friends come to nest and cause chaos. All chapters are standalone unless said otherwise, and come in all sizes from tiny snips to long, long chapters.1. The Power of Three- Three women end up in Thedas as triplet Dalish mages, all with the Mark, and are dead set on either romancing Solas into goodness or murdering him (the youngest's favored option). Things don't go, uh, quite as planned. But they do their best.2. Pizza Portal- By the power of a weird portal located in a pizza box, Hayden and Lisabet end up in Kirkwall before the events of Dragon Age 2. And, supposedly, Ashley is working for Varric... IF they could find her.





	1. The Power of Three (PT1)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wiggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiggins/gifts), [neverending_shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverending_shenanigans/gifts), [uruvielnumenesse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uruvielnumenesse/gifts).



Hayden opens her eyes, staring at the dark ceiling in confusion. She shifts her arms, it not uncommon to wake up with her arms above her head (it made blood flow easier, okay? Shut up).

But her arms get caught on a chain, and she realizes they’re bound.

She inhales sharply, sits up so fast her neck pops and she feels fluid draining down in a cold burn. There are torches along the wall, past cell bars, and men in heavy armor stationed around. A few feet from her is another woman with her arms chained to a pole, and chained to the wall like its a goddamn Medieval dungeon is another. They look to be twins, hair dark fanned around their shoulders and skin a peachy pale. There’s a scar on their left lip, tweaking the skin inward. On the face of the woman closer to her she wears a golden orange tattoo over her left eye that looks almost key-like, and the one chained to the wall has a dark purple tattoo spread over her cheeks, forehead, and chin to resemble a skull. Their ears are finely pointed but, well, that can’t be right, its likely the bad lighting.

Hayden looks away from them to her bound hands, pulling on the chains. Her panic grows when she can’t get free.

“Hello?” She calls to the guards. “What’s going on? Where am I?”

One turns to her, face set in a fierce scowl, and barks in a language she’s never heard but knows anyway, “Shut it, elf! Or we’ll bind that tongue of yours.”

That sends a bristle of shock down her spine, and she yanks harder on her chains, feels tears prickle at her eyes.

_Fucking fuck what the everloving fuck?_

_Bad day to wear a dress_ , Hayden also thinks in the far back of her head, barefoot and braless too. She gives up on her chains and settles for arranging her skirt to cover her chilly feet, hard to do when the chain didn’t have much give and the dress hem was sheer with embroidery. Her wrists already felt rubbed raw, and even in the dim light she saw the red chafing. Despite her love of the cold, a chill was seeping into her, as though she’d been outside in inadequate clothing too long even for her.

A green spark sputters in her left palm and she looks at it, jaw dropping at the clean slice down her Fate Line that gave an uneasy shine.

“ _No_.” She gasps.

She whips around to the guards, demanding in their language, “Where am I? What the fuck is this place? _Please?_ ”

The same one from before strikes the bars and she flinches back, but forges on, “I want to know! What is happening? Why am I being held here?”

 _He called me an elf?_  She racks her brain.  _This shouldn’t be fucking real. It’s a game! Fanfic, when I decide to write it! And Nat would have the Mark, not me!_ Her shoulders lift, hunching in on herself _. Oh Joseph fucking Mary mother of god. NAT! Is she here?_

Her voice cracks as she asks, once more, “Why am I here?”

The guard turns to one of the others. “Gag her. Shouldn’t even be awake, if that apostate can be believed.”

Hayden's eyes widen, watching the ordered guard open the cell and come in. She scrambles back far as she can, pulling on the chains.

“Wait! I’ll be quiet! I swear! I’m sorry! Ir- ir abelas!”

He fucking grabs the chain to pull her in and manhandles her to the ground. She struggles the entire time, screaming now, so long and loud her lung ached.

“Shut the murderer up!”

A door slams open as the guard gets her flipped onto her back. She sobs, fighting to keep her hands above her face.

“What is going on here?”

“Seeker Pentaghast, ma’am!”

“What are you doing to the prisoner? Release her at once!”

The guard gets off her quickly, and she curls up, covering her face and heaving in a breath, sobbing between shudders.

Somewhere behind her is an angry conversation, her loud cries keeping her from hearing anything useful. They taper off after a while, exhausted and terrified. She stays curled on her side, face hidden, and eventually passes out.

When she wakes up again, there’s a bowl of something gray and oatmeal-like a few feet away with a wooden spoon sticking out of it. The other two elves are still out cold, which isn’t comforting at all, but they don’t have to see her slowly sitting up, shoulder aching from being pressed to the cold, hard ground for so long, and wiping at dried tear tracks that itched.

Hayden is terrified to touch the food, instead turning to inspect the women. They’re both in jeans, one barefoot and the other in one sock, and the one closest to her is wearing a college sweatshirt. She doesn’t recognize the initials on it, but it’s good to know she’s not the only one stuck in this situation. The barefoot woman chained to the wall looks to be wearing a floral top under a jacket.

So from Earth, presumably. They were twins, too. There was an oddly vague familiarity to them she couldn’t place.

“That is for you.”

Hayden startles, yelping, and looking at—

_What the fuck, Universe?_

The game devs really outdid it with the eyes, she’d admit. And the pure ‘nerd’ as Nat would delightful say. But Solas was still a smarmy asshole immortal, and no hobo chic would hide that. He was also fuck-off tall, though that may be because she’s on the floor.

She schools her face into the same mask she uses when playing Coup, deciding to not repeat the first incident in this dungeon, and tracks his movement into the cell. He stops a few feet away from her, hands held before him in a way someone being careful to not get shot would. Considering the asshole guards, she understood the sentiment well.

Hayden looks from him to the bowl of gruel and back. “And it’s not poisoned?”

He chuckles, though it sounds tired. “While I understand why you would be wary, no it is not poisoned. It is not good, but will give you your strength.”

 _Sure it will, Bitchface_. Hayden shifts around so she can grab it, tensed in case he may attempt to help. She didn’t want to be in his debt for anything more than she already was.

“Your sisters appear to have stabilized after you awoke.”

He sits down, legs crossed, and she intentionally manspreads so he can’t get closer, leaning back against her pole. It was uncomfortable, digging between her shoulder blades, scratching the bared skin there.

_Okay they assume we’re related. We were found together then._

“I don’t know what that means.” Hayden replies, and forces a spoonful of the gunk into her mouth. It’s blander than cardboard and she wants to cry. At least her stomach is being fed. She’d somehow lost weight in the time she was unconscious and she kinda hated that.

“The mark on your palm.” Solas nods to it. “All three of you appeared with it.”

She nearly drops the food.  _Fucking impossible. Bullshit!_  She inhales slowly to calm the uptic of her heart, exhaling evenly. She keeps her mouth closed, wondering if she’d get more information out of Solas by staying quiet. She had too many questions, knew far too little, and didn’t trust herself to not reveal who she was right off the bat.

There’s a tiny crease to his brow. “You do not seem very curious.”

Hayden smiles, and doesn’t have to pretend to be tired. “Forgive me, but last time I asked questions I was molested. Not really down for asking more.”

“Ah. Yes. That.” He pauses, ordering his thoughts. Lisabet would love to hear his voice this close, his accent was pretty and she understood the voice kink a bit better. Not that she hadn’t  _already_ because damn, Jude Law, but this wasn’t Jude Law or, her personal voice-kink fave, Tom Hiddleston. “The guards were informed to ignore you from now on, unless urgent. The matter cannot be properly settled until your sisters are awake.”

 _Yeah, people I don’t fucking know._ Hayden nods, glancing at the two. They didn’t appear to be waking up anytime soon. If it took three days to wake up after gaining the Anchor, what day was it now? Three already? Would they wake up late? Or was she early?

Hayden fights wanting to chew on her cheek and looks back at Solas. “They’re alright, yeah?”

Just because she didn’t know them didn’t mean she wouldn’t protect them.

“Perfectly alright.” Solas assures. “As I have said, the marks stabilized once you awoke. Or likely just before. It will continue to expand with the Breach, but the pain should be minimal for the time being.”

_Ok Hayden, ask what the Breach is or be quiet? Probably should ask._

“Breach? In what? A wall?”

Solas chuckles and her hand sparks again. It smarts a little, but not as much as it probably should. She also wants to punch him because that was a rude chuckle. She knows the type, with how she gets it every day at work.

“The Lady Cassandra will be by to explain that, as I have been asked to not reveal much to you. However, the Breach itself seems to be a tear between this world and the Fade.”

She didn’t  _mean_ to react but she had stuck a spoonful of gruel in her mouth and it went down the wrong airway. She begins coughing, nearly spilling the bowl, and he reaches out to pat her back.

Hayden flinches back, not at all willing to let him touch her while she was awake or even stuck here, for that matter. He withdraws, and when her fit subsides she asks, hoarse since she appeared so startled, “That’s impossible.”

“Yet here we are.” He murmurs, shifting to rise.

Rubbing at the hollow of her throat, she tracks him across the room, heading first for the woman with the orange vallaslin. He checks over her mark, carefully examining, seeming to poke it with his fingers and his magic, before going to repeat it with the other.

He takes her empty bowl on his way out and she desperately wishes for a blanket or a sheet. It was too fucking cold, her dress had no sleeves, and her legs were prickly with gooseflesh now.

She keeps curled in, knees pulled to her chest in knew-found limberness. She hopes the twins are alright.

Eventually, she dozes. She’s given food at some other time, the same oatmeal-ish substance that tastes like cardboard and regrets and a pot to… well. You get the idea. At least the guards don’t watch her.

It’s also really fucking boring. The only stimulating anything she’s had is Solas, and the guard who brought her food and the piss pot. She’s crawling out of her skin in boredom more than fear by the time the woman with the purple vallaslin (Dirthamen, she’s remembered) wakes up.

Unlike Hayden, she’s jarred awake, saying something distinctly cuss-like in what sounds like German. But Hayden could be wrong. Could be a language on Thedas.

Cerridwen, she hoped to be right because that narrowed down the list of possible people she was stuck with really damn fast. And made her a little hopeful this wasn’t going to be a pure shitstorm.

“Uh,” Hayden hesitates, switching to English instead of ‘Common’. “Do you speak English? Or am I fucked until monkey in the middle wakes up? Because lemme tell you I am crawlin’ the walls like a goddamn spider, I’m in needa something to do.”

Hayden would swear up and down her hands weren’t twitching like a crack addict if you asked her. She was just  _really_ tired and  _really_ bored and _really goddamn fucking freaking out_. This was what fanfic was for, not fucking reality.

The woman stares at her, then blurts, “ _Hayden?_ ”

Hayden's jaw drops for the second time. " _LIZZY_ _!_ ”

She moves to get closer to the woman and is yanked back by the lead. She falls to the floor and puts her Dad’s sailor tongue to shame with the string of creative expletives she lets out when she hits her head.

Hayden drops down on her ass, hitting her head lightly against the pole. “Augh! This fucking– this GODDAMN–  _SHIT BITCH ASSHATS_.” Not as creative, but she was sure she wouldn’t cause her Mom to roll in her grave with those choice words.

“Oh my god where are we?” Lisabet asks. “And why are you… Elvish?” Her brow furrows. She looks to the woman between them. “You have a twin?”

“Me? I thought she was your twin.”

The two share a look. Hayden narrows her eyes in the dimness, and realizes she recognizes those hazel eyes Lisabet has as her own. Her jaw drops again. “Oh my fucking god we’re  _triplets_. We’re a mash-up of each other and we’re  _triplets_.” A little bit of anger touches her. “ _That’s_  why I’ve felt taller and thinner!”

Lisabet carefully moves her hands in their own chains, patting herself down. “Huh. That’s… not as bad as I thought. I don’t feel much different.”

“You’re like. Middle ground between me and the other triplet, I guess.” Hayden says, still scowling. “What the  _fuck_ , Universe?”

“Well this is  _one_ way to get us really immersed in a story.” Lisabet says thoughtfully. “Pretty good dream.”

Hayden looks at her with wide eyes. “This isn’t a dream, babe. Trust me. It’s real.”

“A-huh.”

Hayden decides to give up on that for now. Lisabet would learn the truth eventually. And Hayden kinda looked forward to it.

“So, has Cass shown up yet?”

Hayden turns to Lisabet again, not realizing she’d zoned out. It was easy to get used to being alone, especially down here, though she really certainly should not while here. Hayden shakes her head, then makes a noise of unsure. “I mean. She did? But we didn’t talk. A guard was trying to gag me and I was screaming bloody murder. She came to stop him.”

“Oh yikes.” Lisabet murmurs. “That’s… I’m sorry.”

Hayden shrugs. “It’s fine. Well, okay, it’s  _not_ , but it has to be. And I’ll just make sure to take it out on the demons.”

The mark sparks, flaring, and she sees Lisabet wince as hers does too, moving so she could look at her mark. From this distance its hard to see where the mark is placed on her palm, but it looks to be the Wisdom Line, a violent slash angling across the center and then inclining downwards, glowing like the edges of a campfire. She wonders what the means for her, and what the Fate Line on Hayden means.

She wonders where their newly anointed sister’s mark is.

“This isn’t a dream, huh?” Lisabet's voice is a few pitches higher, a light sheen of panic on her skin. Hayden gives a reassuring smile.

Hayden explains what she can, but it isn’t much. A guard brings Hayden food, startles at Lisabet, and disappears out the door. He brings a second bowl and chamber pot and is gone.

It takes a bit of time, but Lisabet manages to get her bowl in hand and begins to feed herself slowly. She scrunches her nose at the cardboard taste, something Hayden was oddly used to at this point.

“How am I supposed to use the bathroom?” Lisabet demands, glaring at the chamber pot, then her jeans, and then her manacled hands. “What the fuck?” She adds something Hayden's pretty sure is “fuck this place” but Duolingo never taught her curse words so Hayden can’t be sure.

‘What the fuck’ was  _totally_ their motto now.

“Agreed.”

Hayden leans back against her pole, beginning to tap her foot. She fucking hates this place, and it’s probably not even been a day. There’s a quiet moan to her left and Hayden looks at the third elf in their cell, mumbling something that sounds distinctly like ‘wolf eyes’ and shifting. Her eyes blink open, looking doe-eyed, glancing around blearily.

Hayden scoots closer, not wanting a repeat of when Lisabet woke up.

“Yo.” Hayden shakes the woman’s shoulder. “Sorry but I gotta ask ya, darlin’.” She clears her throat because fuck this she can’t be talking like that now. She needed a bland American accent, not Southern belle. “Who are you? Please be Nat or Ash. Otherwise I might finally break down.”

“Ashley," The woman grumbles, a slightly confused lilt on the edge. And Hayden recognized the voice without a doubt, anyway.

“Oh, chill. Cool.” Hayden helps Ashley sit up, snapping her fingers before her face to help her focus. “First off: we’re elven triplets. Dalish. Your vallaslin is pretty cute. Uhm, we all have the mark.”

Ashley blinks at her, then says, “ _Hayden_ _?_ ”

“Yes, hello. Lisabet is chained to the wall. Gimme your hand.” Hayden takes it before anything more can be said. “Oooh, that’s your Heart Line!” Her brow furrows. “Why?”

“What the fuck is going on? How is that relevant?”

“Lie back and think of Thedas.” Lisabet  helpfully explains. None notice a guard slipping away. “Hayden's been awake the longest. “

“Yeah. And the mark is on a different Line for each of us. Your Heart Line, Lizzy's Wisdom Line, and my Fate Line.” Hayden looks up to meet Ashley's eyes, and god its so weird seeing her own eyes reflected back. “We’re identical triplets, save for that and our vallaslin!” She glares now. “ _You_ made me taller.”

Ashley thinks about that. Looks over Hayden and her height. It didn’t quite line up with Ashley's own height. “ _You_ made me shorter.”

“Fair.” Hayden sits back, rearranges her skirt so her chilly feet were covered again. “Cass’ll be on the way now we’re all up.”

“And we all speak Common!” Lisabet provides. “And a little Elvish. We’re talking English right now though.”

“Yep.”

Ashley looks between them. “This is a dream.”

“Nope.” Hayden chirps. “Wait until the mark expands, or pull at the chains until it chafes. Won’t feel so dreamlike then.”

“What the  _fuck_.” She snarls. “ _Fuck_! Fucking fuck!”

“Big mood.”

Lisabet snorts. “Same.”

Ashley rolls her eyes and Hayden grins. “Look we’re stuck like this. May as well make the best of it.”

“Why are you so optimistic about this?” Ashley asks.

“Only way to go is up at this point,” Hayden points out. “And I rather like not breaking down. I have a badass, fight-happy image to repair..”

“Ooookay, sure.” Ashley looks to Lisabet, notices the lip scar, looks at Hayden and finds it mirrored on her. “This is entering uncanny valley.”

“Tell me about it.” Lisabet agrees, running a hand through her hair. “I want something to tie this back with.”

“If I find a knife I’m hacking this shit off.” Hayden agrees. “I have short hair for a reason.”

“Please for the love of god let me cut it.” Lisabet says, eyes wide. “It’ll look like crap otherwise.”

“I cut it myself last time and it was fine. I’ll Mulan this shit easy.”

“You had scissors that time!”

“Wait, wait.” Ashley gets her hand back, and raises them both. “What the hell are we gonna do when Cass gets here?”

“Uh,” the other two share a look. Hayden shrugs first, and is gradually sounding more and more Southern. She gives up fighting it. “Not tell the truth, that’s for damn fucking sure. If this  _is_ the Lie Back AU, which I doubt, we’re all mages. We cain’t plausibly be from the same Clan. Two of us talk funny compared to them, for one, ‘nother is apparently Clans only have three mages, and- I feel there’s more?”

“Okay. So.” Ashley rubs her face. “I could be from the Free Marches, then? And we were separated as kids upon showing magic, met back up at the Conclave and. Boom?”

“Boom.” Lisabet raises her eyebrows. “Could work.”

“Nice.” Hayden agrees. She rubs her lower back. “I hate this fucking place.”

“It’ll grow on you.”

“I preferred it as a game, thank you kindly.”

The Chantry doors opens further away, and then there is the quick paced steps of Cassandra. The door to the dungeons open and Cassandra and Leliana appear at the bars, ordering a guard to open the cell.

“Here we go.” All three mutter in eerie synchronicity.


	2. Pizza Portal (PT1)

“Oh, wait!” I call, as the pizza delivery chick turns to head back to her car. I’d read the label and it said ‘pepperoni and ham’ instead of my preferred ‘pepperoni and bacon’. “This is the wrong one.”

I head out the door, dress swishing around my ankles, and hold the pizza out to her. “Can you see if they gave you the wrong one?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Papa John’s doesn’t make a mistake.”

I frown at her. “I double checked my order before placing it. I know this is wrong. Can you check, please?”

She blows a bubble, pops it, and says, “Sure. Keep the pizza, too.”

I go to explain I hate pizza ham, and won’t touch the damn thing, but she’s already turned to her car, going to check the other orders. I huff, disappointment clear. She comes back, explains they must have given her the wrong order, and she’ll have to go back.

Disappointed, I tell her it’s fine and to forget it, I can pick the ham off. I go back inside, carrying it to the kitchen. I frown at the pizza, appetite for it absolutely obliterated.

I grab my phone to text Nat when the box… burps?

I pause in my typing, turning to the box. Spot jumps off the couch when he realizes I’ve been away too long, coming to sit at my feet. Frowning, I look down at my dog. “Pizzas shouldn’t burp, right?” He can’t hear me, but he stares back at me in a way that, if he could hear, means he’d agree. I think.

I should interact with humans more often.

“Did they give me a bomb?” My brow furrows. “A bomb pizza? Pizza bomb? I shouldn’t eat pizza bombs. Worse than a lie cake.”

He whines, stomping a little foot, wanting a bit of pizza. I look at the pizza once more, frowning. “I mean, I could give you the ham. If it’s not bomb ham, I mean.”

I grab the box, resigned to my pizza corrupted by ham, and my water bottle. I head back the living room because I was a heathen and wasn’t using a plate for this. I sit down, drop the box on the coffee table, and Spot jumps up to sit with me. I pick up my phone, aiming to finish my text, adding a ‘also my pizza might me a bomb. In case I die, love you!’, send it, and open the box.

If I die may as well make sure someone knows what happened. And knows that I love them.

Spot crawls into my lap as I take in the swirling pink-blue-green mass in the box, round like a pizza but decidedly not a pizza, bomb or otherwise.

“What the fuck?”

A low breeze begins to pull at me, causing my hair to slap my face. Spot yelps, turns to run, and is yanked into the air. I give a very similar yelp and grab at him, yelling, “SPOT!” I knock the coffee table over, losing my balance and, dog and phone clutched to me, go tumbling into the pizza portal with a much higher pitch scream.

The pizza box slams closed and burps after I’m gone.

You know how, in  _Spy Kids 2: Island of Lost Dreams_  Carmen and Juni are falling for seemingly ever down the volcano tube? That’s exactly what happens in the portal. I check my phone around the ten minute mark, Spot still tucked to my chest, and am pretty bewildered at the bitching wifi signal and four bars. I don’t even get that in my house. A text from Nat comes in, asking, “You dead?”

“Not yet,” I shoot back, marveling at it actually going through. “Falling through a portal now. Might die at the end. Spot is here, too.”

“Same.”

I roll my eyes, open the photo app, and take one. Looking over the photo, I can see the vague shapes of faces. Creepy.

Good.

I send that and don’t get a response, so I go through the motion of texting everyone “love you” like when, a few months ago, I spilled some gasoline on the ground and thought my car was gonna blow up. I check Tumblr, read another chapter of Blue Sky, and get bored. Two more texts from Nat comes through before the wifi gives up and I lose my four bars.

“WAIT”

“YOU WERNT JOKING”

I’d have totally dragged her for the misspell but alas.

There’s a very creepy crackling noise around me starting up, with a very bee-like drone, and I hold Spot closer even as he wiggles in consternation at my grip. If we were dying he was gonna know he was loved, dammit, deaf or not. I tuck his face against my chest and close my eyes when a bright greenness explodes around us.

My back slams into a ground and I gasp “fuck” on impact. I blink after a few minutes of waiting to either have someone say “Welcome to Hell/the Afterlife!” or be unceremoniously murdered, and find a very clear, very pretty blue sky above, with just a few fluffy clouds floating about.

“Huh.” I murmur. “Shouldn’t I be dead?”

Spot finally snaps at me, tired of the rough handling, and I let go. I sit up, and he gets up, moving a foot away and glaring at me with all the ability he was given in his itty bitty dog body. It’s almost accusing.

“How should I have know the pizza bomb was a portal pizza?” I demand. “ _You're_ the one with the super nose!”

He continues to glare and I get up, brushing dirt off my dress.

And fuck, I’m barefoot, braless,  _underwearless_ , in a dress, with only my phone and dog for company. Prime picking for getting fucked with. And chaffing thighs. And I look to be in the shady part of whatever town I’m now in, great. I can smell the sea salt, feel the ocean breeze, and know I’m in a seaside town.

I can kinda work with that.

Or I could until a fucking elf walks by, gives me a hesitant side-glance, eyes Spot, and then rushes off. I press my lips flat together.

“I swear to god.” I mutter. “If this is anything  _Dragon Age_  I am so gonna punch someone.”

I wave my right hand to get Spot’s attention, because my left apparently wasn’t worth listening to in his opinion, and begin walking in the direction of the sea breeze. As I go, Spot keeping a few steps ahead of me, I begin to whistle  _Hallelujah_  because, well, why the fuck not?

I was already fucked. May as well enjoy myself.


	3. Pizza Portal (PT2)

“Hayden?”

Having finished the last refrains of ‘Auld Lang Syne’, and never given my name out, I’m startled someone knows it. I look up from cramming my feet into the shoes I took off when singing, fingers loose on the laces. My hand wonders to my coin purse filled with fresh coin and tightly bound to my belt out of habit. I blink at the vaguely familiar woman standing across the street.

“Uuuh, do I know you?”

“Holy shit!” First time I’d heard that in a long while. The woman cuts across the street, getting yelled at for her efforts, and has me yanked into a hug before I can do much else. Spot, sitting to my right, snarls, but doesn’t attack. “It’s me! Lisabet!”

My eyes widen, and I quickly break away to look at her. And it really is her! “Lizzy! Holy fuck!” I hug her again. “How did you get here?”

“A really weird way.” Lisabet explains. “This pizza delivery guy!”

“A pizza portal?” I gasps, grabbing her shoulders and shaking. “Same! They gave me the wrong fucking pizza!”

“Sounds like it was on purpose.” Lisabet says, and then realizes something. “Have you always had that dog?”

“Yes, it’s Spot.” I bend to pick him up, settling on my hip as one does a toddler. He leans his head against my side, eyeing Lisabet. “You can pet him if you want. He’s deaf so be careful. And a dick Templar kicked him earlier so he’s a bit testier than usual.”

Lisabet gasps in horror and then holds her open palm to Spot to sniff. He eyes is warily, then drops his head, allowing her to pet him. She does so, gentle and slow.

“He’s adorable.” Lisabet says, a little sadly. “I want a dog.”

“You won’t be agreeing when he starts yelling at you for food.” I warn, but affectionately, rubbing the little dummy’s back. “Or runs off because he smelled bacon.”

A small child comes up then, looking at me with big, hopeful eyes. “Are you singing today, Miss Minstrel?”

“I just finish today, dear.” I tell her. “I have some business in Hightown later and can’t stay longer.”

The child lets out a long ‘awwww’ and we watch her disappear. Lisabet raises an eyebrow. “You sing?”

“Best way to make coin here.” I nod down the path. “C’mon, I’ll buy you lunch. You look like you need it.”

Lisabet hesitates, hand hovering over Spot’s head. He huffs at the loss of pets and tucks back against me. I grab her elbow and pull her along, heading in the direction of the Hanged Man. Varric should be there since it was nearly noon, and Lisabet would definitely want to meet him. And I’d already told him all about me, my world, and Lisabet and Ashley, so there weren’t going to be any surprises. Hopefully.

“Where are we going?” She asks, as I take a sharp left down an alley when a pair of Templars turn at the end of the street. I was in hot water for punching the guy who kicked Spot and shouldn’t be out here, but making money to live waited for no woman and the Hanged Man was my nightly singing spot.

“The Hanged Man. It’s Tuesday, so they’re serving lamb today.”

I can feel Lisabet's bewilderment and apprehension. “What? Lamb stew is good. And Varric wants another story so—”

“Wait!” Lisabet stumbles to a halt, pulling her arm free, and I turn to her, confused. “We can’t go see him! What if we end up in the game?”

“We already are.” I point out. “And Hawke isn’t even in town yet. Or so me and Varric assume, since they haven’t met yet.”

“You told Varric?” Lisabet punches my arm, lightly but obviously with intent to get her point across.

“Well, yeah, and I’ve been right so far.” I shrug. “Varric is a friend. Only one I’ve met, too, outside of…” I trail off, remembering she isn’t fond of Anders. I guess I’ll be sleeping at the Inn tonight, instead of at Anders’s. I’ll send someone to remind him to get some sleep. “Outside of Cullen.”

And okay, that was true. I’d run into him last month, right in the middle of that gut-wrenching version of ‘Take On Me’ (thanks  _Magicians_ , you assholes). I’d almost choked, finished the song the quickest I could without going Full On Meme and tried to leave undetected. He’d seen me and requested a song about Andraste in exchange for two gold, claiming my voice was soothing.

I hadn’t the heart to say no with how absolutely wrecked he looked, like my brother right after his medication was adjusted. So I had fumbled through ‘Let It Be’, exchanging Mother Mary for Andraste, and then beat it with the money.

“You saw Cullen?” Lisabet looks excited, then absolutely brutalized. “Wait, are you okay? I know he’s not the best person right now.”

“I’m fine. Scared the shit out of me.” I shrug, and exit the alley. The Hanged Man was right there, and I take us in. Varric is at his table as always. I take the time to say hello to a few familiar faces and then tug Lisabet to the table. “Varric! I brought a new story!”

“Oh really?” He smirks at me when I motion to Lisabet. She sits, looking an odd mix of delight and apprehension. “Who’s she?”

“Lisabet.” Lisabet holds out a hand. “From Earth.”

Varric’s grin widens, shaking Lisabet's hand, then looks to me. “So there’s more of you!” He leans forward, just a little, and drops his voice, “And where do you come from? You don’t have her tone of voice.”

“Ah.” Lisabet pauses, glances at me. “Germany. Near Stuttgart.”

“You told me about that country.” Varric nods. “The one that speaks another language. And has a prime minister instead of a king or emperor. Like your president.”

Lisabet starts to smile, apprehension disappearing. “Ja.”

“Well, your accent is even cuter than Songstress here let on, Lisabet. A bit disappointed she lied about how beautiful you are, too.” Varric winks and I cackle as her face turns red.

She mutters something and then asks, “How much has she told you?”

“Bits and pieces.” Varric shrugs, sits back in his seat. “Mostly she likes to tell me fairytales. Like the ice bear prince and the girl with the long hair in a tower.” He looks back to me. “Going to see Anders today?”

Lisabet shrieks, “What!?” And I duck when she whips around to face me, livid, dropping her voice to demand, “You know Anders? _And didn’t tell me?_ Goddammit, Hayden!”

I raise my hands. “I knew you didn’t like him!”

“For good reason!” She snaps. “You know what he does!”

“And it’s deserved!” I respond quickly. “This place needs waking up! Mages aren’t monsters!”

Lisabet presses her hand to her face. “Oh my god. You don’t even know the context!”

“I don’t need to. I see it.” I sit up straighter. “And it won’t even happen.”

Lisabet snorts. “Because you’re his friend?”

“Because I handled it.” I stare her down, willing her to understand what I can’t say out in the open.

Lisabet stares back, confused. Then her face shifts to surprise, disbelief, and then her jaw drops. “No,” she breaths. “You can’t be! Impossible!”

“Believe it.” I shrug.

Varric, watching on with mild amusement, cuts in. “So I’m assuming you don’t like the good doctor then?”

“Somewhat.” Lisabet hedges. Then glares at me. “You and I need to talk.”

“You can use my room. Top of the stairs, last on the left.” Varric offers, and grins when I whine at his betrayal. Spot, sleeping in my lap, blinks open his eyes to look at Varric, picking up on my mood shift enough to sniff disdainfully at him. “Just don’t break anything.”

Lisabet grabs my hand as Varric pulls out a key, passing it to her. “Traitor,” I mutter as I move Spot so he can nap on the bench. He huffs and moves to go lay by Varric. I’m then unceremoniously pulled from my seat, dragged up the stairs.

She quickly shuts and locks the door, then turns on me. “What the hell are you thinking? We can’t get involved with these people, Hayden! And  _Anders_? He’s at the very heart of this!” She throws up her hands. “And you have Vengeance in you now!”

I jerk at the accusation. “I  _what_?”

I gape at her and she slows down her rant, confused. “Isn’t that what you were trying to say downstairs?”

I laugh, a hard, disbelieving sound. “No! Fuck no!” I run a hand through my hair, fluffing it up. I needed to for when I went to sing for the Viscount in a few hours, anyway. If I couldn’t mask my magic well enough, or was too much of anything, I was fucking done for. I was going for the money and leaving like a  _Bean nighe_  had just foretold my death. “I’m a Somniari.”

“Now that really is impossible. You’d have to be a mage.”

“I am.” I head towards Varric’s bedroom area, sitting on his bed. I shift around, getting comfortable on the hard mattress, and pat the space beside me. The worry and fear on her face hurts. “Don’t worry. I won’t, like, get possessed.”

“I’m not worried about that.” She sits beside me, grabbing my hands. “How have the Templars not outed you yet?”

I shrug. “I don’t carry a staff? Anders teaches me in private? The demons are actually really shitty at convincing me to accept their terms and conditions?”

“ _Anders is—_ ” Lisabet gives a heavy sigh, covering her eyes and her pained expression. “We’re fucked. In not even half an hour I’ve been fucked, without lube, up the ass by a sword.” She looks at me. “How long have demons been tempting you?”

“Not all that often actually. I think it was twice before Justice found me? I was mainly having issue with the whole… uh, Fade thing.”

It was hard to describe, really. I’d always been a lucid dreamer, hence my blog name, but to have that actually carry a weight was something else entirely. I didn’t know the first thing about shaping the Fade, bending it to my will, or how to expel demons from my dreams. And as much as I loved the color green, seeing so much had made me ache, and made me anxious to sleep. Which drew more demons. Justice, or Vengeance as he should be called, had found me tangled up in a mess of my own doing, trying to shape the Fade to make my own safe haven and instead having it catch me, lashing me down so demons of Despair and Fear could taunt me.

I had gotten used to always feeling a crushing weight of despair that the demon hardly affected me, much as it tried, but the Fear demon…

Lisabet deserves the truth and I give it, how I had found Varric on pure accident and immediately spilled the beans five or so days after my arrival. I’d realized my gift of song was a useful tool already on day one, but it was still hard to have a sure space to sing for money. I had come upon the Hanged Man for a hot meal for Spot and me, a real bed, and Varric had inquired about the ‘Skye Boat Song’. Which prompted the aforementioned bean spilling. And maybe some tears.

Justice had told me to find Anders after he’d freed me from my tangled web, said I needed a teacher and the Circle would kill my “mended, song bright spirit” if I caved to them for help. I didn’t disagree and delved into Darktown after Varric forced me to agree to return well before dinner time, let alone sunset. At the spirit’s recommendation, I told the truth, and had been visiting Anders near daily, helping in his little hospital, when I’d stopped singing for the day and before my evening serenade in the Hanged Man ( _if_ I had the energy to go back).

“That doesn’t explain how you’ve apparently helped Anders and Vengeance.”

“Oh that.” I laugh again, nervously. “So it was total speculation, based entirely on a fanfic that didn’t even go into details.” I watch Lisabet's face darken, and I rush on, “So in the fic Solas had met Anders and Justice and helped them. Something about Justice sleeping during the day and Anders sleeping at night. I wasn’t entirely sure  _how_ that works, but I figured my Somniari powers could help. Shaping the Fade and all that.”

“Hayden that sounds really dangerous and stupid.”

“And it was!” I agree. “But it worked.”

She grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. “You could have died! And now you’ve fucked up the timeline!”

I yelp, twist my way free. “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

I stand, dusting off my dress. I wore it more than anything else, aiding my ‘outlander minstrel’ thing, and I realize how wildly different from Lisabet I look. She’s in black and brown leathers and pants and I’m wearing the cotton dress with lace and embroidery I’d arrived in, leggings hidden underneath now. Her hair was braided up out of her face while mine hung about wildly. She looked really tired and a little pale, though that might be from my blundering through pre-canon material like a rhino in an antique china shop.

“Knowing him, I don’t think he could do it anyway. So I don’t know how it’s a major plot point.” I frown down at my shoes, how they were a bit dusty. I needed to ask Varric if I looked unremarkable enough, or if I needed to be more dusty and change clothes. “Whatever he did to make you not like him, he doesn’t seem all that bad to me. And you know how picky about people I am.”

“It’s not current him I dislike.” Lisabet explains. “He becomes very narrow-minded, very ‘my way is the best and only way’ at the end. And he really believes all those people dying is worth it, which I am absolutely sure there’s a better way to go about it.”

 _We could be that better way._  I don’t say that. Lisabet would strangle me. She is definitely in the No Plot Squad and I’ve been toeing the line while baiting a fucking tiger, walking on my hands across a tightrope that’s been set ablaze at both ends  _Home Alone 2_  style.

And honestly? The ends didn’t always justify the means, I admit that freely. I do think the Chantry needs to be taught a lesson, it’s too in control, too Gilead for my tastes in a weird way that makes my skin crawl. But mass murder wasn’t needed. Not yet, anyway.

 _Nolite te bastardes carborundorum_. Sometimes you needed to go full on Ofglen on their asses, both with the car and the bomb. But maybe not yet.

“I…” Really don’t know what direction to take the conversation after that, especially with my current train of thought. “Anders isn’t like that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And I’ve honestly seen an improvement in both since I fucked around in the Fade. He  _could_ still blow up the Chantry but I doubt he will at this point. If he does, it just won’t be with near divine help.” I swallow. “The Viscount asked I come sing for him this afternoon.”

“You have your finger in every pie here, don’t you?” Lisabet shakes her head. “You need to say no.”

“He asked me last week.” I come back over, taking her hands, kneeling before her like some romantic knight from the faerie realm and she a mortal princess. Or some sappy shit like that. “You can come with? Varric has wanted me to take someone. Anders too. And I can’t even afford to say no to the Viscount. He offered me a lot of gold.”

“Gold is  _not_ worth dealing with him.” She doesn’t look totally sure though.

“If I want to get out of this town safely, I do. I need traveling clothes, a tent, food. Fucking  _papers_ , apparently. I’ll have plenty left to buy me a guitar or something so I can learn to play.”

An idea hatches behind her eyes. “I can play the ukulele.”

I snort. “I don’t think they have ukuleles here.”

“Probably. But if you’re getting as much gold as you say, you can have it made.” Lisabet sits up straighter, warming to the idea. She exudes excitement compared to her earlier disapproval and fear. It’s nice. “And it’ll add to our strangeness that your songs already present! Probably will get us more money when we travel.”

“We’ll be legit minstrels then.” I stop, think about how that changes my plans. By a lot. “I won’t have to find Maryden.”

“You are  _staying away_  from Maryden anyway.”

I hold up my hands when she pokes me very gently above my grandmother’s necklace. I had luckily been wearing it when the pizza portal arrived, otherwise I’d have only my triquetra and hundreds of questions on who I worshiped. My grandmother’s necklace said a lot without having to speak since everyone assumed it was Andraste on the pendant, not an angel.

“Okay. Fine. Fine.” I shrug. “Personally meeting everyone and keeping tabs is a much better idea than just trying to avoid them but sure. Let’s do that. Let’s hope no one else tracks us down because of the music.”

She throws up her hands. “You’re a mess.”

“I am digging out a way to live.” I shrug. “And Varric promised me 40 percent of the profits on the book I’m helping him make of children’s stories.”

I see it coming. Her eyes widen, jaw dropping, and I duck and roll away as she shrieks my name, making a grab for my shoulders. “What are you  _thinking_?”

“Money equals safety and I know a lot of fairy tales this place doesn’t have?”

“Ugh!”

Knowing I was going to keep stressing Lisabet out, since I did sort of have my fingers in a lot of pies so to speak, I elect to ask how she’s doing. Her eyes narrow on me, accusing.

“You’re trying to change the subject.”

“Yeah.” I admit. “But you’re also dressed very rougeish. I’m admittedly curious why that is.”

“I’ve been breaking into homes and stealing from people.”

My eyebrows go up. Lisabet didn’t strike me as the stealth and stealing type, she was an English teacher after all. They tended to be the more bookish, stand-out-in-a-vaguely-unthreatening way type in my experience. But if anyone could pull it off it would be her.

“Nice.”

Now it’s her turn to look surprised. “No objections?”

I shrug. “Better than starving, right?” I head over to Varric’s desk, shuffling around papers full of my unsteady handwriting to find a blank paper. My Common was shit, but much better than months ago when I first began to learn. “And it works for you. You look good in leather.”

“Thanks.” She slowly comes over, looking over my shoulder. “Varric’s handwriting is worse than I expected.”

“Oh that’s mine.”

“Oh.” A long pause. “What are you looking for?”

“The music sheet Varric helped me make. Did you know the music is still the same here? Like treble and bass clefs, FACE and EGDBF, ACEG and GBDFA. Varric apparently knows enough to denote where shit goes while I only remember the basics.”

“Why do you need a music sheet?”

I find the one I need and carefully fold it into quarters, slipping it into the pouch opposite my coin purse, nestled against my phone. “Because the Viscount asked for a duet of me and another minstrel. I told him to pick someone, since I was new in town, but promised to bring my own song while strongly suggesting my partner be a guy for lyrical purposes.”

“This is worse than me breaking into Hightown and nearly getting eaten by a dog.” Lisabet shakes her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Thank you!” I kiss her cheek and head to leave. “I try my hardest.”

Lisabet follows at my heels, dogged. “You are crazy, and are definitely involved in the plot now, and it’s going to get you killed.”

“Not if I can get out of here.” I grab Lisabet's shoulders, looking her in the eye. “This place sucks. Like, I hate this place so much. I only like the people, and they’re not worth sticking around for. I get the gold, get my papers, get your ukulele, and we’re out of here. That’s three things. Easy peasy.”

“I hate it too.” Lisabet admits, utterly exhausted. “I want to leave too.”

“That’s why I’m getting you a ukulele and getting you a room for the night.” I pat her shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time. I stop at the bar to ask for two of the lunch meal and then head back for the table, ignoring Lisabet's blustering and how, “Hayden I can’t just do that!”

“Course you can.” I drop down back in my seat across from Varric. I point at him. “You are going to keep an eye on Lisabet. She apparently has been sleeping in abandoned houses and isn’t willing to take a bed I offer.”

He holds up his hands. “Okay then.” He looks between us intently. “How did your talk go.”

“Hayden is insane and you’ve doubtlessly encouraged it.” Lisabet says, and he laughs. “Like I seriously mean that. I’m so mad about it.”

“She’s not really.” I assure. Norah arrives, setting down the meal, and is gone in a flash to see to others.

“Yes, I am really.” She picks up her spoon and starts eating, bickering with me between bites.

Varric eventually wheedles a few stories of her childhood and family out, listening intently at Lisabet gives her own take on the world we came from. He notes how different our childhoods were, and how different our two countries sound. The hour before I need to begin the climb from Lowtown to Hightown arrives sooner than I want, and I go to pay Corff for a food and board, telling him to give the key to Lisabet.

“I’ll see you guys in a few hours.” I say, wave for Spot to jump from Varric’s side to me, and hug Lisabet even as she grumbles at my stupidity. I glance at Varric. “Keep her out of trouble, please.”

“She’s easier to keep an eye than you.” He says jokingly.

“You say that now,” I warn, and leave, my dog at my heels.

I hate the stairs of Hightown with a passion. If I knew how, I’d invent the fucking elevator. This was honestly pure bullshit. But I had to do it anyway.

 _It’s just like hiking_ , I say, knowing it’s total bullshit and not at all like hiking.

Thank god for the coin. The coin is worth it.

It has to be.

I pick Spot up and begin to climb.


	4. Sleeping Among Stars

The place they were dropped in is cold, with snow drifts keeping the aged wooden doors into the keep closed. Keeping them trapped inside.

Hadley paced like a trapped animal, nose and cheeks nipped red by the cold, the warmest of the three in her heavy sweater and long-sleeved shirt over leggings, jeans, thick socks and snow boots. She’d been hiking, heavy pack on her shoulders, when the apocalypse officially started.

Alex sits near the weak fire they’d gotten going, curled up with Liza, both dressed in thinner sweaters, sharing the heavy blanket, Hadley’s heavy bomber jacket wrapped around the older, thinner skinned brunet. She’d been at home with her cats Kirk and Spock, when the apocalypse started. She’d had no idea what the commotion down on the streets was because she was replaying Dragon Age 2.

Liza had been a bit more prepared, her students talking about the news reports about the government quarantines, how travel into and out of America had been suspended but it was already too late. She had tried texting her friends, but received no response. She’d thought them dead. School had been cancelled early and been turned into a safe zone for those not near or in quarantine areas.

None had been prepared to be yanked out of their homes, dropped into a hot, dark room of clutter, stinking of death, a decrepit skeleton lounging on a chair, calcified to it. He cackled, and tutted, and muttered about ‘Earth science’, then declared they were going to be his latest experiment. Because he couldn’t just let his favorite three people die. He’d been gracious enough to give them their pets and let them keep the clothes on their backs, a bit of rations, and Hadley’s hiking pack filled with food, spare clothes, a sleeping bag, tent, a pillow, and heavy blanket.

Then dropped them into an old, falling apart castle.

In the middle of _fucking winter_.

“Hads,” Liza says, meekly, Gizmo curled into her lap in his little winter coat and hated booties, “come sit with us.”

“I think that was Xenon.” Hadley says, still pacing, shoulders tight, head bent, hands shaking as if ready to strangle something. “That _motherfucker—_ ”

“Hads,” Alex tries, and holds out a mitted hand, “please sit down. You’re making us nervous and I think you’re getting hypothermia.”

Spock and Kirk had disappeared to explore, better suited to the cold with their thick, long fur, curious and excited about the new place. The cats would eventually come wandering back, not gone longer than 10, 15 minutes at most. Spock wonders into the tiny room from around a corner, inky black fur dusted with snow, and steps into Alex’s lap after flicking packed snow off the bottom of his paws. He yawns and then curls up, fluffy tail over his nose.

Hadley whirls to glare at them, hands thrown up, and the fire they made grows bigger, brighter, hotter as she shouts. “I am _not_ getting hypothermia! I’d know the fucking signs! I’m pissed!”

Liza trembles with cold under Alex’s arm. She tugs the younger woman closer. “I know. But we’re cold. _Please_.”

Hadley clenches her hands, and Alex can see the tears in her eyes, the fear and hurt there. Then she makes her way across the tiny room they’d made into their home. She tucks Gizmo under Liza’s shirt, watching the former teacher hiss at the dog’s cold, furless tail, then settle at the bit of heat he gave off being that touch closer. Hadley tugs an edge of the blanket over her and wraps her arms around Liza.

“I’m terrified,” Hadley mumbles, cheek pressed to her friend’s shoulder. “What happened to our families?”

“I don’t want to think about it.” Liza replies, voice a bit more slurred than a few moments before. She was warming up tucked between Alex and Hadley, Gizmo pressed against her stomach, so neither woman was worried about her dying. It was a good idea to keep her awake nonetheless.“I just want a hot meal and a bed.”

Alex mumbles her agreement, watching Hadley remove her gloves. “Gimme your hands,” Hadley says, grabbing Liza’s. “Put these on.”

“But you need them—”

Liza’s protests go unheard, the youngest of them forcing the gloves on. Running a lot hotter than them, her gloves were toasty. Liza goes quiet as the warmth of the thick gloves begins the process of returning feeling to her fingers. Pins and needles prick at the skin, and she flexes her fingers, looking at them numbly. She mumbles out a soft, “Danke.”

“We need to find out if this is Skyhold or not,” Alex huffs after a long time in the quiet. “And the year.”

“Food, too.” Liza continues. “Our supplies won’t last.”

“And better clothes,” Hadley adds, scooting closer to Liza as the cold began to seep in with her loss of movement. “We need to get a better room for insulation, maybe go further in?”

“Yes.”

They look at the fire, still going but beginning to dwindle as it needed wood to burn. Alex says, unsure of how to precede it, “I think you have magic.”

“No, I don’t,” Liza sighs. “I’d know.”

“No, not you. Hads.”

“Oh.” The other two say. Hadley stares at the fire. “Well,” she licks her lips, “do either of you remember the spell for fire from HP?”

“ _Hadley_.” Alex manages as Liza supplies, “It’s ‘incendio’.”

“ _Liza_.” Alex shifts away to look at Liza in betrayal. “She’ll set the whole place on fire!”

“If she knew the fire-freezing spell she wouldn’t.”

“That won’t help us stay warm!”

“If we knew it, we could test that theory.”

As they argued, Hadley tucked the blanket back around Liza and stood.

“Where are you going?” Alex called, beginning to move but then thinking better of it as Spock grumbled and tucked his nose against her stomach. She wasn’t heartless. “Come back!”

“To find things to burn.”

“Jesus Christ.” Hadley disappears around the corner Spock had come from. The two remain where they are. “I can’t believe you gave her the spell.”

“She’d remember eventually and we need to know.” Liza cuddles closer to her. “Also I’m really cold and she might give us a stronger fire.”

Alex worries her lip at that. She picks Spock up and puts him in Liza’s lap, ignoring the cat’s unhappy growl and Gizmo’s yelp of surprise at having a sudden lap-mate. “Lemme up. I’ll see what else she has in her bag.”

Liza does so with a lot of grumbling, scowling, and huffing, wrapping the blanket fully around herself. Alex takes off the bomber jacket and drops it over Liza’s shoulders. The former teacher gives Alex a look.

“You need that.”

“Not if she has other sweaters.”

Alex digs through the large backpack, pulling out three hoodies and a two sweaters. She pulls on the blue-and-gray sweater and tosses the yellow-and-pink one to Liza. Liza catches it in her mitted hands. She wants to put it on, but she didn’t want to disturb the cat or dog or throw off the blanket and jacket either.

“What temperature even is it?” Alex bitches when she gets back over to them with a water bottle, pulling the blanket back over her. “This is total bullshit.”

“Probably below freezing,” Liza admits. They could see their breath since the creature (definitely Xenon, not that she’d admit it aloud) had them tossed here, and the cold seemed always just on the other side of their fire. She carefully took the jacket off and dropped the blanket, pulling the larger sweater on. Spock, fed up with both women’s excessive moving, stands and leaves. Gizmo grumbles but doesn’t leave her sweater and the heat she exudes. She had to admit, being friends with someone two sizes bigger had merit in a life or death situation.

Done with that, she gets her arms into the bomber jacket and curls back under the blanket. Their asses weren’t as frozen as they could be thanks to the sleeping bag they sat on.

“Lex,” Liza says, staring at the fire as it began to dwindle, “Do you think we’ll die?”

“I doubt _he_ would put us here if he thought we’d die. Seems the type to get a kick out of watching us struggle, but not if we die.”

“Yeah.” Both sit there, silent, then she says, “Why’d our fanfics have to be true?”

“Because God and Satan clearly hate us.” Alex rubs under her eye. “I hope Hads didn’t get herself killed.”

On cue, the woman comes around the corner, trailed by Spock and Kirk, carrying piles of wooden debris and a big covered jar. “So, I’m leaning into the whole Xenon thing because I highly doubt we’d find the amount of food I found totally untouched and not moldy or, like, dead as shit. Either that or we stepped into that one Castlevania fic with Baba Yaga, but in Skyhold. Stating beforehand— not becoming a firebird or fighting a crystal horse. Love y’all, but fuck no.”

“I, that,” Alex shakes her head. “ _What?_ ”

“Nevermind.” Hadley drops the giant jar, tall enough to reach the woman’s knees and wide as her hips, before bringing the debris to the fire, dropping the timber into the flames steadily before stepping back. Then she points at it and says, in a British accent that would make Dick Van Dyke proud, “Incindeo!”

Nothing happens.

Hadley scowls and the hope of her friends dwindles. Hadley glances at them, then turns back to the fire as Spock attempts another cuddle session with Alex, Kirk having already taken the rest of Liza’s lap. She waves a hand as she says, “Incendio!”

Nothing.

She goes through several other motions, getting more and more angry. Then she finally gives up and screams, kicking at the fire, “ _Light you stupid motherfucker!_ ”

She yelps a curse as flames burst from the piles, nearly hitting the roof. She back pedals, nearly steps on Spock’s tail, but catches herself as her friend’s jump up, grabbing her shoulders to steady her. The pets scatter around them and the three stare at the roaring blaze, feeling significantly hotter now.

“Uh,” Hadley says.

“Well.” Alex blinks, surprised she was right, and glad Harry Potter spells didn’t work.

“Scheiβe,” Liza adds, upset Harry Potter spells didn’t work.

* * *

He sniffs at the state of the central courtyard once the doors to the keep have been opened. It looks like a druffalo had rampaged through.

He trails after the refugees of Haven before breaking off, stepping across the courtyard to explore the damages inside. Inside looks much better than he expected, the hallways cleaner but no less dusty, whatever remains of the rugs that were there long rotted away, leaving nothing but scrap behind. As he explores further, he notices certain rooms are… _cleaner_ , better organized, almost lived in. He stops exploring when he finds three crudely constructed beds of hay and old canvas (he shudders) in the kitchen around the _recently used_ oven. So recently used there are still embers in the ashes.

Then he starts looking, and sees that the ‘abandoned’ keep is actually well lived-in, if by only an assumed three people. Rooms are still dirty if not a popular spot for them, some closed off completely. And he notices that every room that is frequently used is _warm_ , whether by spell or by location to the kitchen or to the bathhouse below the keep. The ones less used are close to these locations, closed off rooms far from them.

Dorian returns to the kitchen, looking at the three beds. The blankets are gone, likely taken with when the people realized they were coming. He investigates, finding dirties dishes and large empty jugs that looked to have once held pickled foods or jams. In the larder below there's a well-made dent in what looks like a carefully kept stock of dried and salted meats and root vegetables.

He climbs out and is met by a chicken that stares at him for several long moments before clucking angrily, letting out a chicken scream, and flying at him. Dorian yells in surprise, throwing out a hand, as feathers flap at him in a flurry. The chicken hits his face, destroys his hair with its feet, and disappears out the door. He scrambles up the rest of the steps and takes off after it, trying to fix his hair.

He passes Varric on the way to the courtyard and shouts when he sees a few of the holy sisters, “Stop that chicken!?”

He doesn’t mean it as a question, but its too late. They all startle _at_ the chicken and separate, then completely scatter like chickens seeing a fox in their coop when he comes through. His chase comes to an abrupt end when _Solas_ appears around the corner, looking nonplussed, leading a goat who is chewing at his coat. Dorian doesn’t have a chance to stop himself before he’s slamming into the older mage, and they go flying to the ground.

The goat continues to stand there, chewing on Solas’s coat.

After they have gotten themselves back in order and Dorian has explained his findings, to a shockingly agreeing Solas, they go to find the rest of the inner circle and the Herald, the goat following them as it refused to remove its jaws from Solas’s coat, much to the placid mage’s increasing irritation.

“Threaten it with fire.” Dorian suggests.

“I have,” Solas all but snaps. “It is unmoved. It is as though it has no care for its well-being in the slightest.”

“Huh.” Dorian looks at the goat. “Have you tried forcing it?”

Solas shows the bite mark on his arm. Dorian’s eyebrows raise higher. “It is certainly stubborn. Like some other person I know, I might add.”

“You have never struck me as the type to bite.” Solas shoots back.

Dorian laughs, hiding his irritation well.

They enter the small room off the side of the courtyard where the inner circle was bid to gather. The Herald, tired after the long journey and looking all but ready to collapse, smiles at them all. It has been a long six months since she awoke after the Conclave and her trip through the Fade.

“You needed to see us?” She asks, in her odd accent. She eyes the goat. “What’s with the, uh,” she pauses, struggles for the word, and says in her language, “ _ **go**_ ** _at_** , Solas?”

“It’s goat, Lady Herald.” Solas gives the creature a positively vile look. “And Dorian and I have discovered signs of the keep having been lived in previous to our arrival.”

“I never would have noticed.” She says, eyebrow raised. “I wonder if the the place appeared built, then?”

Varric and Bull chuckles, and even Cassandra cracks a smile. Dorian carefully steps forward, keeping distance from the goat lest it turn its sights on his own garb. “We mean _recent_ living. As in as early as this morning.”

The tired smile on the woman’s face falls, and any mirth is gone from the room. She steps forward, demanding, “Show me.”

“Herald,” Cassandra reasons, “maybe we should wait—”

“No!” The Herald barks, and turns back to Dorian. “We need to make sure this place is safe. We have too many sick and injured.”

Dorian agrees, and says, “I found the most recent signs in the kitchen, Naomi.”

Naomi nods, gaze steely. “Okay.”


	5. Sleeping Among Stars (PT2)

After the fire begins to die down again, Hadley disappears with a promise to be back.

“I’m gonna go start a fire in the kitchen.”

“For the love of God stop saying it like that.” Alex begs as Liza giggles against her, loopy from tiredness and the beer they’d been sharing.

“How else should I say it?” Hadley asks, sarcastic. “It’s getting dark and the kitchen is insulated. If the floom isn’t clear, I need to do that before it gets colder, and start a flame to warm the area. Otherwise we might freeze to death.”

“Why are you the survivalist?” Liza asks. “Why were you  _ camping in midwinter? _ ”

Hadley doesn’t meet the drunk woman’s gaze. “I’ll be back shortly, hopefully.”

Alex gives her a disapproving look. “Be safe.”

Hadley grins widely. “When aren’t I?”

Alex could give a laundry list of times the woman wasn’t safe, but Hadley disappears before she can start. Gizmo perks up and jumps out of Alex’s lap, chasing after his mother.

Hadley exhales once she’s around the corner, teasing smile falling. She sags against the stone wall, pressing a hand over her eyes as tears threaten again. She takes a rattling breath, reminding herself she didn’t have time to breakdown.

She should have inspected the kitchen further before returning with that beer (she’d hoped for food), or gone back once she had a stronger fire going for them. Now she had an even smaller window of time to make sure the kitchen was sealed up to keep out the cold and that the oven’s floom wasn’t blocked by debris. She also needed a designated spot for the animals to use for refuse because when she closed that door it wasn’t opening back up except when morning came. They had no idea what the castle was like at night, and for all they knew those big ass spiders from the game roamed around.

She returns to the kitchen, Gizmo trailing dutifully after her, looking discomforted by his little booties but not trying to bite them off. Yet.

She has him sit in a corner far away as she climbs into the giant oven, looking up into the floom. She couldn’t see all the way through, so that meant either it was blocked, covered, or was a really long spout.

“I hate my life,” she grumbles, feeling for notches in the floom. They had chimney sweeps in Arlathan, right? Someone had to be paid to clean these, that or someone cared enough to contrive a spell?

She looks at her palm and mumbles, “Lumis? Lumate? Lumos?” On the third guess a tiny ball of light tries to appear and dies. She curses. “Fucking perfect!”

She crawls back out, deciding to check the kitchen for holes before trying the floom. She barricades the two other exits and closes four of the windows, leaving the east facing window open for light. The courtyard faced the west so when light went out for her, it was time to draw the shutters, light the fire, and go get them before they lost light.

After everything is closed to her liking, she climbs back into the floom.

“Lumos!” She tries, and again with the sputtering. “Fuck. What was that one spell? My boy Caleb uses it all the time in Crit.” What she would give for her Player’s Handbook. Now  _ that _ had some useful spells. What did Caleb cast? Three lights, they  _ moved _ , they—“Dancing lights!”

Three tiny balls of light burst before her eyes, dazzling her. She closes her eyes, cringing back and knocking her head against the smooth bricking of the floom. Her head rings with the pain.

She covers her eyes, opens them behind her hands and carefully opening her fingers to peer through them. She takes one of the glowing orbs and throws it up the floom. There were a lot of cobwebs and something seemed to be caught in the top. She tosses another to light up the middle of the floom, keeping the third by her shoulder.

“Okay, so. Climbing.” Hadley rubs her hands together. “I so should have taken those rock climbing classes.”

Using the light, she finds a foothold and handholds for herself. The floom is small enough she can press her back to the opposite wall. She uses this to make her way up the floom, slower than she wants to be but knowing the other option was risking her neck.

She finally reaches the top and inspects the blockage. It looks to be the cover of the floom, likely it collapsed from too much snow over the centuries. She tests it and there's a little give, but not enough to move it.

Knowing time was running out and it’d be hard to find a room as good as this one, she shoves at it, risking losing her place in the little space. “I wonder if I can put enough flame against it to blow it off? Would eldritch blast do that? Or acid splash? Hm.”

She was pretty sure she’d take damage from the acid or blast from being so close. But it wasn’t like she had much choice. So she wiggles down a couple feet and, making sure the lights were positioned so she could aim well, clenches her hand into a fist and orders,

“Acid splash!”

A tiny clear balloon filled with murky green sludge grows in her palm, and she nearly shrieks in happiness. “Badass! Okay!”

She aims at the blocking hole, tossing up with all her might. It hits the blockage and bursts with a metallic  _ hissss _ sound. Tiny droplets fall on her clothes, and eat little holes into the garments, but none touch her skin so she won’t complain. The space fills with the nasty scent of hot metal and she quickly scrambles down to get some fresh air.

There’s still a bit of light left in the kitchen, to her delight. Hadley checks to make sure the acid has eaten a big, round chunk out of the cover before telling Gizmo to stay put, leaving to gather more things to burn through the night. She hoped there was plenty of loose wood to pick at.

She seemingly runs from one end of the place to the other, carrying big and little pieces to the kitchen, tearing down what remained of tapestries that had long since lost their color for blankets and kindling if they proved too unyielding. When the light is gone she shuts the shutters, gets a fire going, and runs to collect Liza, Alex, and the cats.

“Oh my god I thought you’d died,” Alex says when she comes around the corner.

While she had been gone the two had packed up the sleeping bag and folded the blanket. Liza looked super tiny in Hadley’s baggy clothing, but very warm. Spock and Kirk were finally looking a bit sick of the snow, each held by one of the two women.

“Naw.” Hadley shrugs. “But the kitchen is ready! I still need to figure out where the bathroom should be but otherwise we can bunker down for the night.”

“Is there a small area off to the side?” Liza asks. “We can use that.”

“No. And I meant for the animals.” She points at the cats. “They’ll need to go potty at some point. Gizmo too. I figured we could use an empty pot, go all pre-plumbing.”

Alex looks horrified. “No toilet paper.”

“I have some biodegradable stuff.” Hadley assures. “We just use it sparingly.”

“I’ll never be clean again,” Liza realizes mournfully. “Bathhouses don’t exist here.”

Hadley keeps her face carefully neutral at this. She’d save that delightful discovery for tomorrow. Right now she wanted to be boarded up into a warm room, with good company, and shut out all the shitty discoveries of the past day.

So she does just that.

Hadley shows them to the warm kitchen, with the giant pile of wood and the mound of musty tapestries perfect for making a pallet. She bars the door after checking for all six of them with everything in the pack.

Alex goes to explore the root cellar, coming back with a bunch of carrots and dried, salted meat. “We can have carrots and jerky? There was also onions.”

“How do you know that?” Liza asks. “It’s dark down there.”

Alex grins. “I wished for a light and, guess what?” She raises her hand, twirls her finger, and a little orb of pale blue light appears. “I’m a mage too!”

Liza’s mouth drops. Then states, “Watch me be the sole non-mage of us.”

They split the food, though Liza declines the meat in favor of eating some of Hadley’s trail mix with her share of the carrots and an onion. Its weird to bite into it like it’s an apple, a weird tartness to it she didn’t expect.

“Please promise you won’t starve yourself for your veggie only ways.” Alex asks. “Because there was a lot of both down there, but the meat will last longer since its been dried and salted.”

“I won’t starve myself.” Liza promises. “But at this point I don’t even like the taste of meat. I don’t think I could.”

“So long as you don’t die on us,” Hadley declares, crunching on her carrot like Bugs Bunny. “I  _ will _ necromancy your ass. Every DnD spell I’ve recalled has been insanely useful so far.”

“Even when we’ve come from a real life zombie apocalypse, you gotta make sure your death fixation is known.”

“I like to be slightly predictable.”

“No you aren’t.”

“Yes I am.”

The three start bickering about whos more predictable and whos not. At some point they dig out the bags of pet food Xenon had given them to feed the cats and dog. They stay close together through the night, warmth from companionship and the fire in the oven.

And when they doze off with the fire still blazing, for once none of them are scared or worried.

* * *

It’s been a week since the Inquisition has moved into Skyhold and no one is closer to finding the three hermits who lived there before them. And Dorian  _ knows _ they’re still in the keep because he finds books misplaced, empty plates left in hard to reach alcoves, and there are two large cats that wander around, seeming to disappear and reappear at random, and Cole disappears to “keep the weird sisters company”.

He's asked twice, because hes met all the people who were from Haven on the walk here and not met them, “Who are the weird sisters?”

And Cole gives him a slow blink, a tiny shuffle, and says, “They are lonely, and scared. They do not speak the same as us and so hide. They’ve lost a whole world and fear losing another they’ve carefully built out of stick and stone.” He looks so worried, hands wringing, a tiny sway to him. “I understand them. They just want hugs.” And he meets Dorian’s eyes abruptly, his own big and blue and a bit unsettling. “That's all they want. Hugs. Hearth. Household.”

Dorian can’t deny being worried for him. He’s a good kid, and if these are lost spirits instead of people he may be at risk of getting hurt. Dorian really doesn’t want that.

“I’m safe with them.” Cole says, after the second time he's asked. “I am the safest when with them.”

Dorian sighs. “Can I at least know their names?”

Cole hesitates then. “They… don’t know them anymore. But they feel… compassion, love, and home.”

“Do they each feel this way, or each only one specifically?”

“Both.” Cole nods decisively. “They feel all three, but only one most strongly, seriously, soundless...” He turns away from Dorian, bids a vague farewell, and Dorian wants to follow, goes to do so, but the boy is gone.


	6. Sleeping Among Stars (PT3)

At some point in the night, the three had moved closer together as the fire began to burn low, dog and cats included. Hadley has her arms around Alex’s waist, face pressed into the brunette’s back. Gizmo is curled in the space made by Hadley’s knees being wedged just under Alex’s ass. Liza is half on Hadley, arm slung over the short woman’s middle, ankle hooked over Hadley’s, nose buried in her ashen hair. Kirk was a slowly rising and falling form pressed against Alex’s stomach. Spock was nestled behind Hadley’s knees where heat tended to gather the most on her.

Liza stirs first, though not willingly. Spock had twitched and began to move, trying to get out from under the covers and kicking Liza in the stomach on his way to fresh air. She grunts, cracking an eye open. She inhales, and gets a nose full of a week's worth of sweat and grease.

She gags, sitting up. Hadley makes a noise not unlike Gizmo’s disgruntled huffing, one arm reaching out for Liza in her sleep. Liza carefully takes her arm and settles it back on Alex’s waist. Hadley, somehow, wiggles closer to Alex and, with a wheezy sigh, sinks back into deep sleep.

Spock is pacing at the door, meowing with as much impatience as a cat can voice. Which is a lot. And extremely loudly. Liza stumbles to her feet and grabs some timber, placing it onto the low fire. She stokes it back into a healthy blaze before going to the eastward window, opening it. Early morning sunlight is beginning to filter in with an ethereal pre-dawn blue, washing everything in an other-worldly haze, so she closes half of it to allow the other two to sleep a little longer. She carefully opens the door and Spock darts out to find somewhere to do his business.

She sets out breakfast for the three animals and looks around the kitchen.

It was huge, easily double the size of her tiny apartment back home. How the oven kept the area blazing warm so easily, Liza bet had to do with magic. She digs into Hadley’s backpack for a flashlight and goes into the cellar to see how much food there is. The entire space is… huge, to be frank, and chilled. At least the size of the kitchen above, roof kept up by thick square beams on marble and heavy wooden boards. She explores, finding more large jugs and jars with tightly wrapped lids, tied off with twine, positioned to allow a narrow walkway. There are shelves dug out of the walls and tiled over to look pretty, stacked with clear mason-ish jars of preserves, pickled eggs and yams and actual pickles. There's more salted meat than she ever wanted to experience, looking to be deer and cow (druffalo?) and maybe goat. And carefully designed pottery bins full to bursting with tomatoes, carrots, onions, apples, and other such items. She bets there's more preserves in the jugs and jars if she opened any, not just beer or fish.

“Xenon couldn’t have left us all this,” she says, the words dimmed by the heavy air around her. She leans on the ladder, pressing a hand to her forehead. “This is a castle’s week supply of food, this would last just us… well, months, if not a year. Scheiβe.”

She drags herself out of the cellar, finds Gizmo shivering and scarfing down his food. Kirk watched him lazily, almost protectively. Spock hadn’t come back yet, so his share of the cat food was untouched. At some point Kirk walks over and lays down by Gizmo, who tenses and growls, before the cat wraps his fluffy orange tail over the tiny, old, deaf dog and lays his head on his paws, leaning into Gizmo's side, closing his eyes. Gizmo pauses, confused, and carefully goes back to eating, watching Kirk out the corner of his eye. His shivering slowly subsides.

“Well someone got adopted,” she whispers teasingly. Kirk ears flick in her direction but doesn’t respond beyond that.

When Gizmo finishes, he lays down, letting the cat swath him in thick fur and warmth. Kirk begins to purr.

Liza moves around the kitchen while Alex and Hadley sleep, digging into decrepit cabinets for cracked plates and bowls, sorting the useful from the useless into two piles. Then she fights with the drawers for silverware, carefully preserved after a thousand years tucked away. She puts them with the salvageable items. Glasses made of super thin, almost magically spun crystal are hidden back on a high shelf she climbs for, shrouded in dust and cobwebs. Each one has a neck made to resemble a wolf’s head, tilted back in a howl, cup balanced on the nose and pouty mouth.

“Really subtle, Solas,” she grumbles, putting the fifteen glasses with the salvageable.

The sink, thank the Maker, works. She rips some of the tapestry apart and uses it to clean everything, scrubbing so hard she worried she’s shatter the crystal. But each glass holds together perfectly.

She sets everything aside to dry.

By the time she’s done, Alex is waking up, muttering about heat. She wiggles in Hadley’s hold, who doubles down and tugs Alex in closer, nose flat to Alex’s spine.

“Oh my god.” Alex groans. “She  _ cuddles _ .”

“You have met her dog, right?” Liza calls, tone tinged with amusement. “She wheezes like him too.”

“Jesus.” Alex carefully wiggles from under Hadley’s hold, before stretching. The pop of her shoulder muscles is heard from where Liza leans against the sink. She winces at the sound even as Alex sighs happily. “I can’t remember the last time I woke this early without an alarm.”

“Ja. Same.”

Liza turns away as Alex gets up, carefully picking around the bedding and Hadley (who had curled into a tiny ball, disappeared under the blanket, and only known to exist thanks to the even rising and falling of her rib cage) to come see what Liza was up to.

“The cold isn’t so bad with that fire going.” Alex says, watching Liza begin digging under the counters and in cubby holes for further crockery, preferably of the cooking type and not the dining. “Wolfy wasn’t very subtle, was he?”

“You like that too?” Liza asks, grabbing what looks to be a magical crock pot and pulling it out. She heaves it onto the counter. Alex is twirling one of the glasses, looking at the detailing of the wolf carefully. “Like, talk about self-fellatio.”

Alex snorts, sets the glass down. “Definitely seems something he’d be into.”

“Oh certainly.”

Liza gets back down, finds a few pots and pans that look a bit worse for wear, but definitely still usable so long as they were gentle. She adds them to the growing pile.

“Want some help?” Alex asks.

“Please. Thank you.”

“Of course, babe.”

Alex finds another cabinet to pry open, finding smashed bowls and a broken glass dish from the drawer above caving in. But there were Elvhen spatulas and whisks, so she gathers them up.

Over the course of the next half hour, the two pry open and dig into any nook and cranny, climb onto counters, all to find further cooking crockery. Its when Spock comes back, gives Hadley’s sleeping form a disapproving look, and decides to scare Alex by pressing his icy nose to her exposed ankle, making her scream, that Hadley joins them. She throws the heavy blanket back with a yelp, fireball already in hand, screaming, “WHERE FUCKING IS HE LORENZO?”

Alex scrambles off the counter before she falls, hand pressed to her chest. Liza clings to the cabinet she was half in so she doesn’t fall. Gizmo scurries to Hadley, burrowing into her lap, while Kirk stares, back arched and fur fluffed. He then levels his brother the filthiest look a cat could ever manage and hisses. Spock, sitting regally on the counter, gives a pleased chuff and raise of his chin.

Hadley, heaving, looks around the kitchen with wide, sleep-blurred eyes. One hand burrows into Gizmo’s fur, as the other extinguishes its fire, after realizing there isn’t a threat.

“What the  _ fuck _ y’all?!” She yells, after blinking away the last of her sleep haze. “Just wake me normally!”

Both women point at Spock. “He did it!”

* * *

The cats have begun to linger around Dorian. He notices this when the baked goods are beginning to gain notice, usually just chocolate chip cookies or vanilla cupcakes, made with ingredients no one had brought into Skyhold and left with people having a rough time.

He watches the large black one walk between the bookcases, jump up onto a table, and lay down, big sulfuric yellow eyes watching him with an unerring intelligence. The orange one tends to be less subtle, coming directly up to him, jumping into his lap and going right to sleep. The orange tabby only stays for an hour or two, purring continuously, before disappearing. The black cat just watches him, getting closer over time. The table, another chair, a low shelf, the rug spread wide over the floor and made by nimble, young fingers.

He comes in two weeks into this haunting, an hour later than normal, to find the black cat in his chair, curled up with the orange tabby. The tabby is asleep, and the black cat gives him a vile look, as if Dorian has personally offended the cat. It nudges the tabby with his large, equally black nose, who chirps, and blinks awake. It gives Dorian a heartbroken look and he suddenly feels wretched for having been late.

“I am sorry for my tardiness,” he says by way of greeting, because he thinks ignoring his lateness may ruin whatever camaraderie is growing between him and the cats.

The black cat huffs, jumps off the chair, and disappears around a corner. The tabby stretches, claws digging into the carefully woven silk cushion, then rises fully onto his paws. He blinks at Dorian before jumping onto the sidetable with the book he had be perusing the day before. The tabby gives a plaintive mew, looking from Dorian to the chair, then a loud meow.

Dorian closes the distance, sitting down. The tabby smooths out into his lap with a pleased purr.

Dorian grabs his book after the tabby has settled himself, and nearly drops the book when he finds a slip of paper on the page he left off on. The tiny paper says, in a carefully written scrawl not quite cursive and not quite plain script, only four words:

_ They’re Kirk and Spock. _

Dorian settles an unsteady hand on the cat’s back, eliciting a meep, and asks, “Kirk?”

The cat’s ears flick in acknowledgement. He inhales slowly to calm his racing heart. “Do you belong to the Weird Sisters?”

Kirk finally opens his eyes, looking at Dorian with a gaze that said, “What do  _ you  _ think?”

He figured as much but… they were communicating now, which was something. It was better than radio silence and Cole disappearing off to places unknown to possibly even Skyhold itself.

“Alright. I’ll leave a note for whichever sister this is later.” Dorian swallows. “What are your thoughts on magical theory of the Fade, as written by the Chantry?”

Kirk huffs, so Dorian nods. “I agree. Lets diss their theories this afternoon, hm?”


	7. Body Swap With Soulmate AU

She wakes up groggy and grumpy. Her body feels... weird. Longer, thinner. She feels colder, too. Her blanket isn’t enough to keep her warm.

She grumbles and rolls off the bed, stumbling to her feet. She notices the floor is wood instead of carpet. Her feet and toes are longer, thinner, legs too in the thin cotton pants.

Henrietta frowns, reaches to touch her hair and comb it back. “I don’t remember putting hardwood floor—what the _fuck_.”

She’s bald. Henrietta is _bald._ Her other hand flies to her head, touching her very hairless noggin with rising panic.

“What the fuck!?”

Her voice registers next, much deeper and masculine, weirdly familiar with a slight accent. She spins around, taking in the very small room with a small bed and small desk and plain chair. A small shelf of books. Clothes folded neatly on the edge of the messy desk.

She runs over, digging through the papers, whispering, “What the fuck, what the fuck,” over and over.

She can’t READ any of the papers. They’re all in a weird ass curly script.

There’s a knock at the door and Henriette jumps, spinning to face the door. A cheerful voice calls through, “You up yet, Chuckles? It’s about time to leave.”

“Chuckles?” She whispers. “Chuckles? Who the fuck is Chuckles? I’m not Chuckles. The only Chuckles I know is.... oh no. No no no no.”

She looks around for anything reflective, finds nothing, and marches for the door. She rips it open, seeing Varric standing there, and demands, “Who am I?”

Varric leans back a bit then says, slowly, “Solas...?”

She presses her lips flat. “Shit. I’m gonna murder Adrianna. C’mere, I need help.”

She grabs Varric by the shirt and yanks him into the cabin, slamming the door behind her, him, them? Her, for now.

Uuuuuuuugh.  


* * *

“So Chuckles met his soulmate,” Varric murmurs, watching her pace in the Elvhen man’s body. “Huh.”

“But we haven’t actually met!” Henriette cries. “I’m not even from Thedas.”

Varric bites his lip, both concerned and highly amused at hearing Solas so.... not Solas. But its not like Henri could help it. She was in a really weird ass situation.

She amends her earlier statement on wanting to murder Adrianna. It was _Luna_  who thought of this AU first. She’d haplessly gone along because, well, none of the hundreds they had were _real_.

Until now.

Fuck Xenon. She _knows_ its his fault.

“Yeah, you’re from Earth.” Varric rubs his chin. “That’s...” He exhales heavily. “Something. Hopefully he doesn’t wreck anything of yours.”

Henri’s heart sinks, she feels her ears twitch back as utter despair hits her. “Oh no. Momo will be so fucking confused. He won’t get his morning banana.”

Varric frowns. “You have a kid?”

“Oh, god no. Not interested. Ever.” Henri flops onto the bed with a groan. “He’s my deaf dog. He’s old as dirt and loves attention. Solas will probably be very confused and grumpy by Momo trying to get his attention so much. Oh jeez.”

Varric is quiet, watching Henri. She curls up on the bed, a strange thing to do with such long thin limbs, able to pull her knees to her chest. How does Solas feel, in her small, mortal, _human_ body, with all it’s aches and pains and the chubby curves of her body and arms?

She stares at the wall, worried about her friends and dog. Shit she needed to reverse this.

“How do I reverse this?”

Varric mumbles something, which is weird coming from Varric. She flips over to look at him. “What?”

“You can’t. It does it on it’s own.” Varric tells her. “Eventually. Since it was when you slept, it should change back when you go back to bed. The bonds are reliable like that.”

Henri sits up fast, eyes widening. “So I have to spend all day with a dick? And magic I have no clue how to use?”

She isn’t sure if he’s trying to not laugh or trying to not cry, but he nods either way. She moans and falls back on the bed once again, then wails, “Oh goddammit! I’ll lose my job at this rate!”

And, finally, Varric starts to laugh.

She shouldn’t find it funny. She _should_  be offended. But also yeah, hearing that in Solas’s voice is pretty fucking hilarious. She starts laughing too, and then starts crying.


	8. Body Swapping With Soulmate AU PT2

Solas is not having a good morning.

Or a good week, for that matter. Month, year, _millennium_.

He’d thought the possibility of ever finding his soulmate had died with Arlathan. Apparently he was wrong.

And her dog was the stupidest, smallest creature he’s ever encountered. Or at least he thought so until he read the large white lettering on it’s collar.

** DEAF, PLEASE APPROACH CALMLY **

He’s inclined to think it the creature’s name if not for the pink heart dangling from the collar, **MOMO** in thin silver lettering on the front, and a string of words and numbers on the back.

The dog is a mess of stringy black and white hair and floppy ears with large beady brown eyes, and is eager to follow his master around the entire house from the upstairs to the downstairs and back again. There is food for it, strange hard round bits in a metal bowl, one beside it filled with water. He knows because Momo eats some of the food as Solas inspects his soulmate.

She is short, just below 5’1. And very soft and pale, with large thighs and rolls with her curves and stretch marks, but there is muscle underneath, used regularly though not honed, both in arm and leg. Blue-black hair falls around her face is a tangled bob with much paler roots denoting she dyed the locks and tired hazel eyes, though the tiredness may be his own doing. And rounded ears.

He feels infinitely _old_ and finitely young looking at his soulmate, who he doubts is no older than 24 years, at _most_. He is both a cradle robber and stuck with the very person he did not find at all appealing.

She feels ill, body aching all over, particularly her ankles and her lower back. And much weaker than him, easily breakable, fragile, body breaking down quickly and without remorse.

Momo nudges the ankle of his soulmate’s body and gives a slightly off-tune whimper, then goes to the stairs. He follows the dog down, watching it all but fly down the stairs too high for the small body. Her joints ache, knees pinpricks of pain. Her lungs burn strangely, but is fine compared to most else.

He hates this body of hers and wonders who looks after her.

He finds no one on the first floor, and wonders how rich she must be to live in such a spacious home alone, with just a dog, to have no chaperones humans like to saddle their young women with when old enough to court. He explores the spaces given to her, the carpet that needed cleaning, the short couch that smelled heavily of her and Momo, the large pink patchwork blanket. There is a large, strange rectangular device on a stand, black and reflective. Other things, small and also rectangular, sit beside it. He inspects what must be books underneath, pulling one off.

The cover is colorful in the center, depicting a cartoon child in coral with brown hair, surrounded by darkness with a single point of light behind their determined visage that of a building with bright lights. _Spirited Away_ is across the title. He opens it with a quiet snap to find.... no pages. He frowns. Just a circular object with the same image on the front but smaller. He closes it and puts it back.

He turns to the tall bookshelf, walking around the low table in the center of the little area. Books litter the shelves in two rows, short and tall, thick and thin, paperbacked and hard backed, a few left on top of the others with no space left to shelve them vertically. He pulls the one with the most worn spine down, finds a red and gold cover, _Inkheart_ across the top.

“She finds this book the most interesting,” he murmurs, unused to hearing such a high voice, almost sweet if not for the squeak on the end. “Why?”

He sits on the longer couch. Immediately Momo jumps up and lays across the lap of his soulmate, gives a contended huff, and begins to breath evenly, calmly. As if slowly falling asleep.

_ Rain fell that night, a fine, whispering rain. Many years later, Meggie had only to close her eyes and she could still hear it, like tiny fingers tapping on the windowpane... _

* * *

He understood very little and all too much in the book. He read quickly and felt his curiosity grow.

Cars, no magic save that of silvertongues, horned martens. People from books read to life, others turned to words on paper. He wonders how fictitious the world of Meggie and Mo Folchart is compared to this one, for there is much difference between his world and his soulmate’s, he learns quickly.

Her stomach growls eventually, and he realizes he has yet to eat. It didn’t do well to let his soulmate die, and from to what he’d seen humans tended to need eat larger helpings and more often than he ever has. So he sets aside the book, picks up Momo to set him aside, and rises. He heads for what must be a kitchenette of sorts, dog following eagerly. There is a stove and oven, a fridge as described at one point in the book. He opens it, shifting through everything inside.

How did you use the stove? Or the oven? He eyes the rack of spices, wonders ever more how rich she must be.

He explores the cabinets, finds bread sliced evenly and a bag of hard baked triangles of bread called Doritos. There are plates, cutlery, bowls, cups, pots and pans. He pulls out the container of cured meats and the cheese from the fridge, sets about putting the meats and cheese with the bread all together on a plate.

He eyes the sink, takes a cup and fills it with water.

It tastes off, metallic and lead-like, but he isn’t sure of what else to drink.

He stands there, still in her underthings, and eats. The dog paces, whimpering, looking at the bunch of bananas on the counter. He however does not give him any of them. He did not know what his soulmate gave Momo besides the things upstairs, or if the dog could even eat bananas.

He washes off the plate, sets it aside to dry, and returns up the stairs with a pouting dog. Whether he would explore the outside world or not, it did well to keep his soulmate dressed and bundled up.

He digs through the closet, pulls out long sleeved shirts but no pants. No corset or whatever else women wore when not a warrior like Cassandra or the Nightingale. It is for all the better.

He pulls on the largest sweater, one with red, white, and blue on its surface and **STRASBOURG** above the stripes, **FRANCE** below it, as it seemed to match his soulmate’s other homely choices. Then he searches for pants, finds them in the bottom of her chest of drawers. They are dark blue and odd in texture, but comfortable once they are on. He finds socks for her cold feet, the only part of her that seems to become chilled, and returns downstairs to the book.

He settles down, Momo quickly finds his lap, and he starts where he left off at the start of their escape from Capricorn’s village.


End file.
